The Reluctant Romantic

An afternoon of banter and bottled water with Leo Woodall, Hollywood's favorite new heartthrob.

- Allison P. Davis

LEO WOODALL ENTERS a charming café in London's most charming neighborhood, Primrose Hill, one recent January morning, flashing a smile so contagious it sets off a domino effect of grins among the wait staff. He spots me sitting in the back and beelines for the table, making the kind of direct, warm eye contact usually reserved for the final "lay it all on the line" moment in a romantic comedy.

He sits down; peels off a big, cozy gray cable-knit turtleneck sweater he describes as "Colin Firth-esque"; neatens his tousled hair (only to tousle it in a different, equally appealing way); fills my water glass before filling his own; leans back in his chair; and admits that he isn't sure he's cut out for rom-com greatness.

"I love rom-coms and comedies," he reassures me. (Notting Hill is his favorite.) But, he says, "I don't know if I'm ready to step into that space yet," a statement as absurd as LeBron James suggesting he may not be well suited for basketball.